


Who's to say?

by MadHatter13



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007)
Genre: But they get better, Excessive Drinking, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Podfic Welcome, Team Bonding, about as much as you'd expect from canon, buddy cop movies and romcoms are beat for beat the same, mostly by antagonistic characters - and the andies, the stanford constabulary's gossip re: their coworkers' relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 03:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18130475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadHatter13/pseuds/MadHatter13
Summary: ‘Do you think they’re sweet on each other?’Doris was met by a round of quizzical stares from the rest of the shift, and rolled her eyes. ‘The Inspector and Danny, I mean. Do you think they fancy each other?’*The very nature of a near-epic action movie friendship can make figuring out the particulars of Danny and Nicholas' relationship quite difficult. What are their coworkers to do but speculate, if only to pass the time? And if it takes them an entire year, so be it.





	Who's to say?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic *checks watch* five years ago. And never posted it, for some reason, but after reading it over it didn't seem that bad, so here you go. Let me know if I need to add any more tags/warnings.
> 
> This story brought to you by the often-repeated wisdom that buddy-cop movie relationships and romcom romances are similar enough that if one switched to the other, relatively few people would notice the difference straight away.

_April_

‘Do you think they’re sweet on each other?’

                Doris was met by a round of quizzical stares from the rest of the shift, and rolled her eyes. ‘The Inspector and Danny, I mean. Do you think they fancy each other?’

                This time the stares were one of confusion from Fisher, a couple of sardonically incredulous ones from the Andies, and just the general blank expression usually found on Walker’s face. Saxon, sensing the mood, tilted his head and whined.

                Finally, it was Tony who ventured to say something. ‘… _Why_?’

                She shrugged, and looked over to the dynamic duo, who had gone to the bar to get drinks but hadn’t actually got as far as bringing them back. ‘I dunno. They just seem really… intimate, sometimes.’

                The group followed her gaze. ‘That doesn’t really mean anything, though,’ said Fisher. ‘I mean, so are Andy and Andy, and _they’re_ not together. I think.’

                ‘Of course we fucking aren’t,’ said Wainwright, scowling through his mustache. ‘Anyway, who’re you callin’ _intimate_?’

                ‘Everyone knows you give each other massages if there’s been a bad shift,’ said Doris, not even looking up from her beer.

                Cartwright shifted, uncomfortable. ‘So? It’s just the kind of thing you do for your mates!’

                Wainwright’s moustache bristled defensively. ‘Anyway, I don’t see it.’

                ‘You called Angel a bender just last week!’

                ‘Yeah, but I didn’t mean it like _that_.’

                Wondering what else he _could_ have meant, Doris just rolled her eyes. But the conversation seemed to have jarred a few memories. ‘They nearly always show up for work together,’ contemplated Cartwright. ‘Or at least I think so. They’re the first ones in, anyway.’

                ‘Whoop-de-fucking-do,’ said Wainwright. ‘They carpool.’

                ‘Yeah, but…’ Said Doris, ‘Remember when Danny got shot? Nicholas was shattered.’

                ‘So were the rest of us,’ commented Fisher.

                ‘Yeah… You’re right.’

And he was; the time when they hadn’t been certain whether Danny would live had been bloody awful, and who _wouldn’t_ feel horrid when their friend had been shot. She’d known him all her life, for god’s sake. But she just had this _feeling_ that she couldn’t really articulate (especially since she was a bit drunk) and it wouldn’t go away.  Her mum always said she paid too much mind to other people’s business. Well, she usually replied, why do you think I became a policewoman? Officer.

She downed the rest of her drink. ‘Though… Have you ever seen him this _happy_ with anyone else? Or Danny, for that matter?’

                They all looked back over to the bar, where the duo were now sitting in companionable silence. Doris knew she had a point. Angel might never be what you would call a relaxed guy, but he’d still loosened up a _lot_ in the year since that whole business with the Village of the Year award, and to no-one more than Danny. It was quite endearing, really.

                ‘So let me get this straight,’ says Wainwright, making Cartwright snicker and Doris smack him with a beermat. ‘ _You’re_ saying that Robocop over there, and Dannykins… Are lovers in the night time?’

                Doris shrugs vaguely. ‘I’m not saying they _are,_ just that they _might_ be.’

                ‘Might be what?’ Doris very nearly jumps. The Inspector is like a fucking ninja. Him and Danny have arrived back, Danny looking mildly buzzed with his pint and Nicholas having settled, as is usual, for cranberry juice.

                Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly) it’s Wainwright who answers. ‘Whether or not you’re a fucking robot, Nicholarse. We’re counting down the days until you turn humanity over to the Matrix.’ Answering their baffled gazes with one that said _do_ you _want to bring it up?_ He sat back, sneering.

                Which, granted, Doris can appreciate. The Andies won’t really have a proper go at him now that he’s their superior officer or, more likely, because they actually kinda get on with him now. Not that they’d ever admit it. And calling your boss a bender was one thing. It seemed somehow quite another to point out that he might be in love with his subordinate. A lot more awkward, for one thing.

                ‘You’re hilarious,’ replied Nicholas drily. ‘Well, we’re clocking out for the night. See you all on Monday.’

                ‘I thought Danny had a shift tomorrow Sunday,’ said Doris.

                ‘Nah, I switched with Walker. We’re going to Buford Abbey to see Die Hard 4. Meaning he gets to pick next.’

                Nicholas shrugged. ‘I don’t watch movies, much.’

                ‘You do now. ‘Sides, I’m not going with you to the botanical gardens to stare at plants for an entire afternoon.’

                ‘It’s interesting!’ Their voices trailed off as they left the table, Danny’s answer lost in the crowning of the crowd.

                Now, even Wainwright looked dubious, and went to say something, probably not PC. Doris sighed and fumbled for change for another beer. ‘Just drop it.’

* * *

_May_

It’s two weeks later, and somehow the subject’s come up again – probably because everyone is bored silly. Nicholas and Danny are out to patrol, along with the Turners, and for some reason the Andies are downstairs throwing popcorn at everyone, only slightly deterred when Doris chucks a bin at them.

                ‘Anyway, we all know Danny’s had girlfriends, right,’ said Fisher decisively. Doris rolls her eyes again, because she’d thought the subject was over, but couldn’t let this one rest.

                ‘So? I went out with Allie Bridger and Gina Wells a couple a years ago, and you lot didn’t even blink.

                ‘Yeah, but it’s different with birds, innit?’ Said Cartwright, now trying to catch popcorn in his mouth.

                ‘How’s that?’

                ‘Well, it’s hot, for one.’

                Doris snorts and Wainwright shrugs derisively. ‘Who knows about the Inspector, though. He could be a poof for all we know.’

                Fisher shook his head, although not as if he thought the suggestion was impossible. ‘That man is _impossible_ to read. I swear I never know what he’s thinking.’

                Doris made a face. ‘Dunno, Danny said he had an ex in London.’

                ‘Was it a bloke?’

                ‘Unless blokes are named ‘Jeanine’ these days, I don’t think so.’

                ‘That’s one thing, though,’ said Wainwright. ‘Who gossips to their mates about their exes like they’re a thirteen year old girl?’

                There was yet another round of puzzled looks. ‘Everyone?’ Hazarded Cartwright, who might be loyal but not so much that he wouldn’t call his best mate out on his bullshit.

‘Anyone with the emotional capacity of a teaspoon?’ Said Doris.

Wainwright scowled.

                ‘I caught them holding hands, once,’ said Fisher ponderingly. ‘In the locker rooms. Well, I say caught, I don’t think they noticed me. Didn’t think much of it. It was rather adorable, really.’

                Wainwright looked so disbelieving, he reminded Doris of a walrus. Well, he generally did, with that moustache, but especially now. ‘You _didn’t_? What kind of bloke holds hands with someone they ain’t shagging?’

                Fisher sent him a surprisingly withering look. ‘Someone who’s secure in their sexuality, which rules you out, _Andrew_.’ This got him a bin to the head, but since they were plastic instead of metal since the station had blown up, it wasn’t as much of a retribution as before.

And so the subject was momentarily forgotten again.

* * *

_June_

It had been, to put it mildly, a pretty shit day. Before that, it had been a shit night, and actually none of them had slept for the last 24 hours, meaning everyone was either snappy or exhausted or both, and in general just didn’t have time for bullshit.

                It had started out with farmer Adams reporting strange going-ons on the edge of his property, where some hippy-types had a pottery workshop where they mostly made lawn gnomes. She and Walker had been on night watch, and were sent to investigate along with Saxon, taking a slightly more sneaky route than was probably legal in case there was something odd going on. Hey, you couldn’t catch people with their pants down if they saw you coming. Well, except that one time at this barn when she was twenty-one, but that was a whole ‘nother matter.

                As they skulked in the bushes, they soon found out that although pottery making was going on over there, so was meth-cooking, and had legged it back over to the car to ring up all the backup they could possibly get, and then gone back to the station to see things through.

                Two hours later they had stormed the workshop, SWAT-team style, and rounded most of them up, only a few had escaped through the back door into the forest. She and the Andies and Fisher had gone after them, only to find they were armed with a couple of ancient shotguns and a fuckload of ammo. Finally, one of the ancient guns had jammed, and they had swarmed them, Doris legging it after a couple who tried to run away again and taking one out with a thrown baton. The other ran neck-first into a tree branch, and she couldn’t muster up the effort of feeling sorry for him as she put him in cuffs.

                But Fisher had been grazed by a bullet on his arm (thankfully panicking _after_ the perps were caught) and Cartwright had almost got knocked out with the jammed shotgun. She and Wainwright had got both of the bastards and probably been a bit rougher than police procedure allowed, but it’s hard to be rational and detached when some methheads have just tried to off your friends. As she thumped her perp against the squad car, she thought to herself that she’s never teasing Nicholas over the Kalashnikov incident ever again.

                To say the least, Angel had been _pissed_.

                And all that left them here, at five in the bloody afternoon because there had been a few more fuckers to round up and a buttload of evidence to file, and Cartwright and even Fisher had refused to go home and waved off any concern (and watching Wainwright try to hide his would have been hilarious if Cartwright hadn’t got a slight concussion).

And there was so. Much. _Paperwork._

                So they persisted on crappy coffee and leftover adrenalin (although Doris was sure she’d crash pretty soon) and the uneasy feeling they should probably be hungry but not actually making the effort to get food. And then farmer _Brian_ , neighbour to farmer Adams, and actual owner of the property where the meth lab-slash-gnome-factory stood, had shown up to give his statement, but it soon became clear that mostly he just came to rant.

                ‘Damn hippies, coming here and spoiling the community with their disgusting drug habits. I have to say, I’m very impressed by how you got them, Inspector,’ rambled Brian. ‘Superb leadership, if I may say so.’ It stank of ass-kissing to Doris. She wasn’t inclined to think generously of anyone right now, but it struck her as odd that he’d had people camping out in his old shed making drugs and yet claimed to know nothing about it.

                Nicholas did not look impressed. Probably his headache was as bad as with the rest of them. ‘Quite. Now, if you would give your statement to Sergeant Fisher –‘

                ‘Can’t abide those hippie-type sissies,’ Brian went on. ‘Really can’t. Damn poofs. And on _my_ property. But it’s all sorted now, thanks to you people. Can’t have a bunch of fags going around breaking the law like that.’

                All eyes were now on their conversation, pens frozen in the middle of scribbling, and she found she couldn’t look away, although she wasn’t sure why. Doris thought she could see a twitch developing in the corner of the Inspector’s eye, and his expression reminded her that, yeah, this was the guy who had rode into Sandford on a freaking white horse and (mostly) unaided shot down a bunch of murderous psychopaths. In short, not the kind of person you want to piss off.

Angel was a practical guy, although he could have a bit of stick through his spine when it came to regulations, but he also did not like it when people used the kind of slurs that could get you on a perjury charge these days.

                Which mean she was surprised when he just said, ‘Hm. And your statement ..?’

                ‘Yes, yes. As you say, Inspector. Justice is served, those flower-power benders behind bars, all is good with the world.’

                For a moment, it almost looked as if Angel was going to let it go. Almost. It would be perfectly in character, after all.

                But it had been a _long_ day.

                And Angel, very calmly, put down his notebook. He was still wearing the stab vest, and Doris noticed that there was still dried blood on the side of his face, contrasting nicely with his piercing eyes. In short, he could look quite intimidating if he put his mind to it. Idiot, though, not taking proper care of himself. But then he had been busy making sure the rest of them were okay.

Then he said, in a voice that brooked no argument, ‘Mister Brian, let us get one thing straight; I’m not. So if you intend to stand here and complain in completely inappropriate terms about a bunch of drug-producing criminals that broke the law seven ways to Sunday and _injured my team_ , I’d much rather you did it somewhere else.’ He turned on his best authoritative-policeman gaze and added, ‘Also, it occurs to me that you yourself had a disproportionate amount of lawn gnomes on your property and really it’s _odd_ that you didn’t contact us sooner about what was going on _your_ land.’ He nodded decisively. ‘You will be expecting a call from us soon. Have a nice day.’

                In the resounding silence, Brian just floundered, and mumbled something indistinguishable, and left. Angel huffed, and muttered something Doris thought sounded like ‘twat,’ then sat down again to finish his paperwork.

                ‘That was _brilliant_.’ All eyes as one turned to Danny, who looked as he always did when the Inspector’s inner Clint Eastwood made an appearance, although surprisingly (or not) he didn’t seem nearly as baffled as the team.

                Angel didn’t look up from his paperwork, but grinned. ‘Wasn’t it. Although I have you to thank for the noticing they were the same gnomes as in the workshop. Good thing we stashed a few in the boot in case he destroyed the evidence.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Good grief, we’ve been at this for hours. Who’s up for takeaway?’

                ‘I’ll have Chinese!’ Said Danny.

                ‘You always pick Chinese!’ Complained Cartwright, who still looked a bit disoriented from his concussion. ‘We never have Greek anymore.’

                ‘Ethiopean?’ Hazarded Fisher. ‘There’s a new place downtown.’

                Nicholas sighed. ‘Just pick whatever you want, it’s not like you have to order from the same place.’

                And that was that, really.

* * *

 

_July_

One thing she would never have credited if it hadn’t happened was that the Andies became (for them) almost PC about the issue. When she brought it up with Cartwright, he just shrugged uncomfortably and said, ‘Well, it don’t really work as an insult if it’s true, does it?’ Which was fair enough, really. And since Angel didn’t seem bothered by it, it didn’t need discussing.

                Still, she couldn’t help being all ears when the discussion of attractiveness came up. Really it had just been because Fisher had been mooning over his wife _again_ (and alright, she was a dish, but a girl could have too much) and the Andies had joined in either deriding or confirming his assertion over whether any particular feature was attractive or not.

                ‘Oh come on, what’s so great about being able to make biscotti?’ Sneered Wainwright. ‘What about her legs? They ain’t bad.’

                ‘Ah, but legs only take you so far,’ said Fisher in what he probably thought was a sage voice. ‘They won’t be the same in thirty years’ time. But a good biscuit is forever, whether you’re twenty-five or eighty.’

                The Andies seemed to consider this. ‘Nah.’

                ‘Glad to see we aren’t objectifying women or anything,’ Nicholas snarked into his beer. Bless him. To tell the truth it was a breath of fresh air to find a bloke that didn’t seem particularly interested in her when she hit on him. Or anyone who did, for that matter.

                ‘Oh yeah?’ Jeered Cartwrigth. ‘You go on then, R2D2. Tell us all about what _you_ look for in a lady.’

                ‘Orrabloke,’ said Walker.

                ‘Right, whatever.’

                Nicholas sipped his beer. ‘I don’t.’

                Wainwright rolled his eyes at their antics, which he clearly thought beneath him. Really, sometimes he just tried too hard. ‘You bunch ‘a girls. Anyway, the fuck’s that mean?’

                ‘It implies I’m looking for someone when I’m not.’ Huh. Well, Doris could appreciate the dedication to being single herself. If that was what he meant.

                Cartwright elbowed Wainwright in the ribs. ‘Told you. Fuckin’ robot.’

                ‘Whaaat, come on,’ Doris said, nudging him. She must be drunker than she thought. Or was it “more drunk”? “Drunker...er”? ‘Your exes must have had something in common, anyway.’

                Nicholas sent her one of his patented raised eyebrows. ‘Aside from thinking I was too dedicated to my job, not really. Thanks, Danny.’ This was to his partner, who had returned with more drinks, and clapped him on the shoulder.

                Fisher snorted. ‘So they agree with the rest of the human race.’

                ‘And everything with higher brain functions,’ muttered Cartwright.

                ‘And things living under rocks,’ added Wainwright.

                ‘Yeah, yeah. Leave off, why don’t you.’

                Later, Doris stood stretching outside the pub as the lot of them trickled home. She had a shift the day after, and to be honest probably ought to have drunk less, but she wasn’t in the habit of regretting things, so she shelved that thought. A little further down the path, Danny and Nicholas stood, enjoying the fresh night air and each other’s company, either unaware or not particularly fussed by her tangential presence. And she grinned, because it was lovely to see them standing together when it might in so many ways not have happened, whether because of the NWA or the shooting or the sea mine or because of those twats at the Met. As she turned to leave for home, she lingered, as Danny went to say something.

                ‘What was Andy on about?’

                ‘Hm?’ Nicholas frowned. ‘Oh, that. Nothing, he was just winding me up, asking me what I look for in a partner.’

                ‘Which sort?’

                ‘I guess it comes down to the same, really. Or did. It used to be I didn’t want to have a partner on the service.’

                Danny grinned. ‘Used to?’

                Nicholas bumped against his shoulder. ‘Oh, shut up.’

                ‘What did you answer?’

                Nicholas sighed. ‘I didn’t, really.’ He seemed like he had nothing more to say, but then added, ‘Before I might have said something like, I don’t know, assertiveness and ambition, someone who acts, not re-acts.’

                ‘That’s a lot of A’s.’

                Nicholas laughed, and it was wonderfully lacking in self-consciousness. ‘I might just have said it to say something, really.’

                ‘What about now?’

It was a perfectly innocent question, inside a perfectly innocent conversation, Doris thought. As it often was, the real meaning came through _how_ things were said.

                Nicholas looked over at him, his face… not serious, not sincere, not anything. It just _was_.

                ‘Kindness.’

                Perhaps not looking for something, Doris thought as she walked home, just meant that you had already found it.

* * *

 

_August_

It is not usual for the chief to look tired when she comes in in the mornings. Well, not much these days, at least. Back when he first started he did that a lot, but it turns out finding your new place of residence populated with homicidal maniacs when you’ve only just moved doesn’t do anything great to your ability to fall asleep.

It’s also not usual for the chief to have tea that’s anything but green, but he does anyway when she knocks to ask if he wants a cuppa.

She pays no notice to it because it’s apparent for all of five minutes (the man has a spine of solid titanium, she thinks sometimes) and in any case he seems to be in rather better mood than would also be usual, so it’s probably nothing.

It’s unusual for Danny to focus so completely and easily on his paperwork that he’s finished it before anyone else has. Of course, he’s most often in a good mood, but when they go on patrol together, he doesn’t draw a single doodle in his notebook.

Later, she asks if he and Angel had yet another movie night, all he says is, ‘Ah, yeah. Got about half-way through Lethal Weapon 3.’

A few months later, she’ll berate herself for not seeing it. Danny loves Lethal Weapon 3 – he’d never leave it unfinished.

And she calls herself a police officer…

* * *

 

_September_

There are still vestiges of summer heat hanging on in the afternoons, but most of the time it’s just rains and wind. The nights are developing a frosty overbite, but to be honest it’s her favourite time of year, because she can use the weather as an excuse to stay inside with a cup of tea or chocolate or something stronger and do nothing much except maybe catch up on the telly or read.  Apparently the Danish have a word for it – was it hoogy? Huggy? Whatever.

It’s also a lovely atmosphere to have people over for a visit, whatever sort of visit that may be.

                This time it’s just her cousin Bernice, who was born in Sandford but moved to Buford Abbey because of her programming job. They’re reminiscing over the various mischief they got up together at school, and, flailing with her gin and tonic for a moment, Bernice says ‘And, and, and, that time you and me and Danny and that bloke – what was his name?’

                ‘Mm… Conrad?’

                ‘Right, right, and we ran into this one guy selling joints and went and got properly buggered in a field somewhere.’ She took a sip of her drink. ‘Metaphorically. Though I think I did hook up with Danny like two months later, or something.’

                ‘Oh, yeah, I remember that. What were we, like seventeen or something? Gosh, we were lucky we didn’t get caught.’

                ‘Mm. Although I don’t recall running into Conrad much after that. Can you remember what happened to him?’

                ‘I always thought he moved away…’ Doris felt a slightly sick feeling slink into her stomach, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t the cocktail. ‘Although…’ She swallowed. ‘I can remember his dad givin’ him a thrashin’ for it, and then a few days later they were all gone. Danny’s dad was the one who said they’d moved.’

                She could see the penny drop on Bernice’s face. ‘Oh.’

                ‘Yeah.’ She stared gloomily into her glass. ‘There were so many of them, Bern. So many cases we had to re-open. It’s a bloody surprise there were enough left to make a village, really.’ She drained her glass. ‘Guess that’s another one for the books.’ It hadn’t been possible to identify some of the older skeletons in the crypts. Too many people had never been reported missing.

                Bernice reaches over and pats her hand. ‘Did you ever go see that therapist, afterwards?’

                ‘Yeah. The Chief insisted we all go, and we went on the condition he’d do it, too. It felt better, talking about it, but it’s not as if there’s many similar cases to work from. Danny had it worst, really. I mean, it was his dad.’

                ‘Poor love,’ says Bernice, and Doris knows although it may sound generalized, her cousin feels terrible for all of them. She’d gone to stay with her for a while after the whole thing blew over, and to be honest it had been a lot better than therapy. She was just one of these people who knew when to say what.

                Which was exactly why she changed the subject as Doris used the opportunity to dab at her eyes, which had gone suspiciously damp. ‘Speaking of which, how is Danny?’

                Doris waved a hand. ‘Oh, you know. Same as always, really, even with his dad in jail an’ all. ‘Sides, he’s got Nicholas taking care of him.’ Danny had moved in with Nicholas after he got out of the hospital, and then somehow never really moved out again.

                ‘Oh? Right.’

                Now Bernice’s expression was a bit odd, so she asked back, ‘Any partic’lar reason?’

                ‘Not really, just… I was out for a jog at the park one evening, cause the weather was so nice an’ all, and I ran across them on one of the benches. Well, ran behind them, really, or whatever. They were kinda, I dunno, snuggling?’

                Doris is way too tipsy to explain the months-long conversation that had been going down at the station on this subject and its intricacies. Besides, Bernice could be a bit daft, sometimes. ‘It’s the kind of thing they do. I don’t know how else to explain it.’

                Bernice looked relieved. ‘Oh, so I didn’t turn Danny gay by being really bad at sex when I was a teenager?’

                Yep. Daft. There were so many idiotic parts of that sentence to reply to, starting with ‘bisexuality is a thing’ and working from there, but she was too drunk to even know when to start, so she just said, ‘Well, no.’

                ‘Hey, can you get me another drink? My last one’s mysteriously disappeared.’

                Doris contemplated this. ‘Yeah, I can do that.’          

* * *

 

_October_

As was not unusual, the lot of them found themselves in the pub after work, very nearly celebrating. In truth there is actually nothing to celebrate; they just want to get a bit sloshed for the sake of uplifting… uplifted… upitiyness… having a good time.

                She could drink the lot of them under the table if she wanted to, but that’s not her real agenda tonight, so she just happily camps out around her fifth pint for the sake of feeling pleasantly buzzed and not having to worry about overmuch of a hangover the next day.

                Angel isn’t here this time – gone into London for some sort of debriefing or training or evaluation or whatever, and she worries briefly if he’ll see what he’s missing over there and not want to return. Sandford _is_ a bit of a dump, rustic though it is. Whatever the hell _that_ means.

                Danny doesn’t seem overly worried. ‘Nah, he’ll be fine. He doesn’t much like the brass over there. Thinks they’re a bunch of tossers.’

                ‘They _are,’_ said Fisher. ‘Very nearly tried to abduct him when you were still in surgery.’

                ‘Really?’ Danny looked surprised. ‘Never heard about that.’

                ‘Nah, he turned them down something fierce. Plus we had a bit of a chat with ‘em,’ said Doris, giggling.

                ‘You did?’

                ‘Yeah, even Saxon chipped in.’

                ‘More like chipped out,’ snickers Wainwright. ‘The one with the stupid hair left half of his trousers behind.’

                ‘You guys…’ Danny looks so touched that at this stage of drunkenness he might even get a bit weepy, and that’s a complete disaster, because a crying Danny is just _heartbreaking_.

                ‘Hey, hey, hey!’ Says Cartwright. ‘We didn’t sign up for you getting’ all teary on us, you ponce!’

                ‘I’m not! I’m just happy, ‘cause you didn’t much like him first.’

                Wainwright looked self-conscious. ‘Who says we do now?’

                They ignored him.

                Fisher shrugs. ‘He didn’t much like us either. ‘n fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he never liked _anyone_ before he got the hang of winding down ‘round here.’

                ‘He’s just kinda bad at people, sometimes,’ says Danny.

                Doris giggled again. Damn, she had lost count of her pints. Was this the ninth, or the seventh? ‘Yeah, _sometimes_.’

                ‘Nah, you just gotta know how to make him switch off.’

                They shared a collective glance, eyebrows disappearing underneath hairlines (which was impressive, considering how fast Fisher’s was receding.) ‘Really?’ Hazarded Doris. ‘And how’d you do that?’

                ‘Explosion-packed action films, mostly. Only time I ever see him fall asleep without consciously deciding to. Well, one of two, really.’

                There was a brief silence. Then:

                ‘I fucking can’t take this anymore,’ muttered Cartwright. ‘’s driving me ‘roudn the bend. Arright? Are you guys shaggin’ or not?’

                Of all the answers she expected, from Danny spitting out his drink and denying it, to asking how the fuck they’d known, a ‘Yeah?’ In tones reminiscent of a valley girl’s ‘duh,’ had not been one of them.

                They stared at him. Then they stared some more.

                ‘Really?’ Fisher finally ventured.

                ‘Yeah?’

                ‘What, how long?’ Doris found herself asking.

                ‘I ‘unno, two months?’

                ‘What?’ Wainwright looks so shocked, Doris would have laughed if she didn’t felt much the same. ‘But you weren’t any different back then!’

                ‘No use changing a perfect system, is there? Hang on.’ Danny’s eyes gleam. ‘You’re saying you didn’t _know_?’

                ‘Well it’s not as if we had anything to go on,’ Fisher sulks.

                ‘You didn’t! You didn’t know! Oh, that’s fucking _hilarious!’_

                ‘Yeah, yeah, Chuckles. Not our fault you bastards already act so fuckin’ gay it’s impossible to tell the difference,’ Cartwright mumbled.

                ‘Man, you are _not_ good detectives.’

                Danny’s grin didn’t disappear the entire night, and when they went to stumble over to her place for another beer, she said, ‘’S true, though. You don’t act any different than you used to.’

                Danny shrugged, ‘’e’s a private kinda guy, ain’t he? ‘Sides, he says it’s inappropriate conduct or whatever to act like that at work.’

                ‘He better be good to you, Danny.’

                Danny smiled. ‘He is. I don’t mind, really.’

                Doris’ grin dropped. ‘Does your dad know?’

                So did his. ‘Yeah. Told him last time I went to see ‘im.’

                ‘What’d he say?’

                ‘He was furious. Thought he’d smash through the glass and strangle me. Not so much ‘cause Nicholas’ a bloke, funnily enough. Mostly just ‘cause he stopped him from killing more people and landed him in prison.’ He sniffed, but seemed resigned to it.

                ‘I’m sorry, mate.’ She patted him on the back. ‘I’m really happy for you, though.’

                ‘Thanks.’

                ‘So…’

                ‘So?’

                She leered and elbowed him in the ribs. ‘How’s the sex?’

                ‘Can you spell ‘bloody amazing’?’

                ‘I think I’m too drunk, actually.’

                And their laughter echoed down the street into the night.

* * *

 

_November_

Nicholas, it seemed, was just as amused, if more subtly, as Danny had been. As expected, this didn’t change how he acted any more than anything else had. Although she did notice that he sometimes would kiss Danny as soon as they were out the door after a shift. Maybe he was warming up to the idea that the guidelines were less rules and more, well, guidelines. And that was a good thing. Because, really, Angel being openly affectionate with someone? Adorable.

                They did, of course, get mercilessly teased for it, but there is a difference between being told by your friends that you act like a couple of old queens gone antiquing on Notting Hill than for some asshat at the pub calling you... a range of words she wasn’t going to entertain. Which, admittedly, had yet to happen because a) it was pretty hard to tell they were together at all and b) most of the village had a the kind of terrified respect for Angel that comes from seeing someone put your local publican’s head in a bear trap.

                That day, Danny had a doctor’s appointment to determine whether his scars were still healing properly. ‘You never see Bruce Willis worry over a bullet wound in Die hard 4 that he got all the way back in Die Hard 2,’ he had grumbled.

                ‘That’s because he’s an actor and actors have no idea what it’s actually like getting shot,’ Angel had retorted, nose in a report. ‘Try not to upset the doctor again.’

                ‘Asking if bullet wounds give you any kind of superpower is a perfectly reasonable question!’

                ‘Hm. See you tonight, then.’ Here, Nicholas did look up, and smiled back at Danny, and didn’t resist when Danny reached for his hand. By her desk outside the office, Doris resisted the urge to melt.

                After Danny left, Angel looked increasingly morose, making Walker glance up from where he was feeding Saxon and muttered for someone to ‘p’t ‘im oot ‘f ‘is mis’ry.’

                Standing up from her seat and walking over to the office, Doris rapped on the open door. Angel looked up, a fidgety look on his face. ‘Patrol, chief?’

                ‘Ah, there’s paperwork –‘

                ‘It’ll still be here when you come back. Come on.’ And amazingly, he did.

                ‘Thanks,’ he said, when she returned to the car from the bakery and offered to share her doughnut holes with him (yeah, yeah, talk about stereotypical, fuck off).

                ‘Don’t mention it.’

                ‘No, I mean for getting me out of the office. I needed that.’

                ‘It’s a’right. You’re just worried about Danny.’

                He looked chagrined. ‘Is it that obvious?’

                ‘Isn’t it allowed to be?’

                He shrugged, and went quiet. Finally he said, ‘I keep expecting him to come back with some awful news from the doctor, and then he doesn’t, but I still worry.’

                ‘He’ll be fine, chief. ‘E’s got a thick skin, our Danny.’ Literally, it seemed.

                ‘Yes, well.’ Good god, the man was so annoyingly English sometimes, Doris half expected him to one day grow tweed and stupid-looking sideburns overnight.

                ‘Oh, _relax_ Nicholas. No-one’s going to have a stroke if they realize you’re human like the rest of us. Nothing’s gonna happen if you occasionally say ‘fuck the guidelines’ and let the world acknowledge that Danny’s your boyfriend.’

                He bristled. ‘I don’t expect people to. Anyway, it’s not just the guidelines that I’m worried about.’

                ‘Oh?’

                ‘Strictly speaking, fraternization is against the rules, especially when it involves a superior officer and a subordinate.’ His shoulders looked stiff enough to use as a ruler, and his nose was all scrunched up as it became when he was troubled. ‘If word gets to the top, we might be in a _lot_ of trouble.’

                ‘Aw, don’t worry ‘bout it, it’s never been a problem here before.’ If it was, she wouldn’t have hooked up with both Andy _and_ Andy at some point. Well, all right, she probably might have, she’d just have been more sneaky about it.

                ‘Yes, but you also don’t have the distinction of having refused if not an order, then a very strong suggestion from the Chief Inspector of the Metropolitan police. They don’t like me very much in London, these days.’

                ‘Ah. Right.’ She frowned. ‘They _still_ haven’t stopped trying to get you back? Fuckers, they were the ones to send you away in the first place!’

                ‘They have stopped calling, and I don’t think the Chief Inspector cares much anymore, but my former Sergeant is a rather petty man. He’d easily use it to try and get back at me. I suspect I may have cost him a promotion.’

                ‘What a wanker.’

                ‘Mm.’ Something seemed to occur to him. ‘Anyway, why am I telling _you_ this?’

                She rolled her eyes. ‘Cause I asked, _Angle_ , and ‘cause we’re friends. Ain’t you got it into that thick skull of yours yet? We like having you here.’

                ‘Oh.’ He looked momentarily embarrassed, and she grinned, victorious. Then she glanced in the rear-view mirror.

                ‘Also there’s a shoplifter coming your way in about five seconds.’

                Whipping out of the car, Angel grabbed the teenager whirling past and smacked him against the car. It was one of the hoodies, so-called, as the NWA had referred to them, but younger than his counterparts who had taken part in that whole fiasco. Specifically, it was Francis Gardner, who she knew had been fired from every part-time job he’d ever had for sneaking ‘free’ samples of everything from soda to stamps, and had apparently taken to robbing bakeries for something to do. Stepping out of the car herself, she leaned against the car. ‘’Lo, Francis. How’re your buns?’

                ‘My what? Oh.’ Glancing down at the contents of his stolen bag, he shrugged, which was made harder by the fact that Angel had him in an arm lock. ‘Bit squished, thanks for askin’.’

                Angel, still prone to rolling his eyes at the fact that sooner or later, everyone knew everyone in Sandford which made proper by-the-book arrests nearly impossible, shook his head. ‘Right. We’re taking you down to the station.’

                ‘Aw, come on! It’s only a few buns! And a croissant, and some shortbread.’

                ‘Irrelevant.’ Handing the bag to the pissed-off baker who now appeared at the scene, Angel pushed him into the car, and they got in, Doris looking at him with mock exasperation.

                ‘You just can’t step out the door without arresting someone, can you Chief?’

                ‘If there were less people worth arresting, it wouldn’t be a problem.’ Well, at least he wasn’t preoccupied about Danny or the twats at the Met for the time being.

                Later, he’d returned to his office, and Doris processed the idiot. Honestly, who bothered to steal from a _bakery_ of all places? Especially a dirt-cheap one like Francis had. He was a teenager, not a character in a Victor Hugo novel.

                ‘What are we gonna do with you, Franky-boy,’ she said, half-amused, as she wrote her report.

                ‘Let me go?’

                ‘Hah, you’re a riot. You know, you’re not going to get anywhere if you keep piling petty offences on your record. Not that I care, it’s just rather pathetic, really.’

                Francis snorted in a very teenage-esque way. ‘Yeah, wouldn’t have to worry ‘bout it if that jackarse didn’t keep arrestin’ me.’

                She gave him a Look. ‘Only person you can blame for it is yourself, ‘cause you _keep stealin’,_ you knucklehead.’

                ‘You lot never bothered us before he became Inspector,’ Francis went on, sulking.

                There is a particular expression that is known as ‘old-fashioned.’ Hers practically had fossils in it. ‘No,’ she said with great deliberation. ‘Instead, you’d just get your throats cut and stuffed in the crypts in the castle, or, I dunno, ‘accidentally’ slip on your skateboard and break your neck.’ She went back to her report, slightly riled. It wasn’t comfortable to be reminded of her own ignorance, and how _easy_ it had been to ignore every suspicious, mysterious death as an accident. The first night she had so much as bothered to go home (none of them had, really, once they’d acquired a temporary station after the last blew up) she had promised herself it would never happen again. Not on her watch.

                ‘Yeah, right.’

                At the tone of his voice, she looked up again. ‘’Scuse me?’

                His face was a sneer. ‘Not sure I credit all that. Only his word against the lot of ‘em, wasn’t it. Landed my best mate’s dad in jail, too. There wasn’t ever any trouble before he came along and went all Jason Segal on us.’ He snorted. ‘And a poofter like him, too.’

                ‘ _What?’_

‘Well, he’s shaggin’ Danny Butterman, ain’t he? Everyone knows it.’ Then he cowered when she leaned over the desk and hauled him up by the shirt.

                ‘ _Listen_ , you goddamn wanker, I went down into the crypts to collect the bodies! I _saw_ them all dead! When I processed the fucking reverend, he told me he’d been trying to get them to go after me for years, ‘cause he thought I was a slut! I saw kids down there _your age_ who were _dead_ , and you and your little group of misers were next on their list. That man is the only reason you are still alive, so _show some fucking respect.’_

She let him go, and he slumped back in his seat with nothing but a ‘’s m’m.’ Straightening her shirt, she went back to the report and said, ‘And you better get your act together, because I know you want to get into law school, and no-one’s gonna want a lawyer with a record, you idiot’ She thought about this for a second. ‘At least not a pathetic one like yours.’

                Just then, Nicholas came out of his office, and caught a glance of Francis’ terrified expression and her serene smile. ‘Dare I ask?’ He ventured.

                ‘Oh, just chattin’ with the perp, sir. Friendly like.’

                ‘Riiight. Well, I have to pick Danny up from the hospital. See you tomorrow.’

                ‘Have fun, sir!’

                On balance, the glare she received was worth seeing the way his ears changed colour.

* * *

 

_December_

As office Christmas parties went, theirs was generally not too shabby. Of course, there was generally too much eggnog when they started out and not enough left over when they stopped, and usually someone ended up passed out top of a desk, but that was how it was _supposed_ to go. They had only just began exchanging presents, and there was already a messy pile on her desk – mostly the crap sort you get from your co-workers – gloves that you never wear and or maybe an okay scarf or some chocolate if you were lucky. Now it was Angel’s turn to hand out his, and he thumped a heavy box down on her desk, and chucked a few more parcels at the rest of the shift. She scratched open the freakishly tidy wrapping paper, and squealed. Booze! How thoughtful.

                Over by the drinks table, Cartwright opened his, which contained a set of moustache clippers she knew he had been eyeing for weeks. ‘Not gonna give Dannykins his present?’ He said as Nicholas sat down on Danny’s desk.

                ‘Already got mine,’ said Danny, halfway through a plate of Christmas cake mercifully donated to the office from his Aunt Jackie.

                ‘What’d you get?’ Asked Fisher, who was trying to make heads or tails off whatever he’d got from Walker. From her limited view, it looked like a cross between a kettle and a pair of salad forks.

                Danny said nothing, but their Inspector just grinned into his drink in a way that was wholly uncharacteristic, but left no room for misunderstanding.

                ‘What? Oh –‘ Said Wainwright. ‘Christ. I do not need to know that.’

                ‘I didn’t say anything.’

                ‘But you were _thinking_ it.’

                Doris laughed uproariously, and beside her, Walker muttered ‘Buggery,’ into his cake.  

                ‘Actually he got me the special edition boxset of Rush Hour,’ Danny admitted to her later. ‘Her just really wanted to fuck with the Andies.’

                Doris’ eyes widened. ‘You’re saying he’s growing a sense of humour? Oh, you’re definitely good for him, Danny.’

                Danny just shrugged, but couldn’t hide a smile. ‘As for what I got him, on the other hand…’

                This time, she laughed even harder.

 

* * *

 

_January_

                It’s been a new year for all of twenty-six seconds, but the pub is so full of patrons that no-one’s quite realized it yet because everyone’s being too loud. Doris is standing with the rest of the shift in their usual corner with a cocktail that is so many conflicting colours in one glass that it hurts her eyes just to look at it. Finally, the new barkeeper, Oscar (he’s been the barkeeper ever since the old ones were jailed, but he’ll probably always be known as the ‘new’ barkeeper), manages to make himself heard loud enough to say ‘It’s a new year, you tossers! You missed the countdown!’

                There’s a giant cheer from the crowd, and then a bubbling of New Year’s wishes, then a marginal silence as everyone leans in for a kiss from their friends and family and spouses. Doris grabs a smooch from both of the Andies and gives the rest of them a peck. Nicholas barely seems to notice his, as all his attention is on Danny, and glancing down, Doris can see that their fingers are entwined.

                As you watch others, others watch you. She looks up to see the (just as not-new) reverend Olive Thrasher observe the same thing she just has, a confused frown on her brow. Heading across the floor to hand her a sherry, Oscar’s son Carlton, a jock-y rugby type, apparently has as well, and she can’t read the expression on his face.

                And she remembers with something of a jolt that Sandford is a small, tradition-driven village. It may not have much of a history of official intolerance -  if you discount the last twenty years of police-sanctioned murder. There had, after all, been Mrs. Tenner and Miss Verity living together above the barber shop for almost thirty years now, and everyone knew not to assume they were related. But the more insidious sort was probably sponsored for decades by the NWA along with their hatred of mime artists and hippies. She knows that Reaper or Shooter for example had not been the most tolerant of people, and that was putting it _way_ too mildly. Tolerance was a terrible word, she thought. It just meant the bare minimum of not smashing a chair over someone’s head if they happened to be in the same room as you.

She can see the vary look in the Andrews’ eyes, because for all they moan, they aren’t stupid and they care for the team more than they let show. Walker is eying the reverend with a scowl, and even Tony, who isn’t quite the sharpest knife in the box, is glancing nervously around the crowd, who are still mostly oblivious.

                And it occurs to Doris in a way that is quite terrifying, that she doesn’t _know_ what’s going to happen next.

                And then Nicholas and Danny exchange looks that she couldn’t decipher in a million years but by now they probably communicate telepathically or something, and then Danny _grins_ in a way that was so much more devious than you’d expect of him, and Nicholas grinned back –

                -and then Danny leaned forward and pulled him in by the front of his shirt, and kissed him.

                As kisses went, this one was quite thorough. The few times she’d seen them kiss before, it always made her feel like she was intruding on something very private, but this one was utterly lacking in self-consciousness, as if they couldn’t care less that they were in the middle of a crowded pub.

                For a moment, the celebration around them falters, as some of the jubilant patrons ogle the spectacle, until they are met with glares from the entire staff of the Sandford constabulary that aren’t busy snogging the lights out of each other. But, to Doris’ everlasting surprise, most just glance over and then continue whatever conversation they’d been having without seeming overtly troubled. Maybe Sandford isn’t quite as much as a dump she knew it to be, which is a strange thought.

There’s one middle-aged farmer who makes a face, but hurriedly looks away when he meets the pilot-shades covered stare of Wainwright (he put them on just to look intimidating, the silly bugger, but she’ll never bring it up because she’s never been so thankful for his passive-aggressive bullshit). _Ha. Mind your own business, Mister Harper, and I won’t_ accidentally _happen upon the still you’re running in your cellar._

                Then her eyes stray to the Reverend Olive, who’s jaw has got lost somewhere on the floor as she struggles for words. Her mouth flaps uselessly for a moment until finally she manages to form consonants, and Doris wonders if she’ll have to go over there and run a bit of interference.

                ‘But –‘ it’s all the reverend manages to get out (and Doris can tell from the set of her shoulders and the ugly curve of her mouth that the rest wouldn’t have been pretty, because her attention is grabbed by Carlton very casually tripping and spilling the sherry all over her froofy mink coat. The loud proclamations of his excuses drown out whatever would have been the end of that sentence. Once he’s weathered her scolding and mopped everything up, he turns, and Doris swears he winks at her. Well. It’s never unwelcome to have allies in unexpected places.

                It dawns on her that although this entire train of thought and action feels as if it’s been running an eternity, really it’s only one minute past midnight, and Danny and Angel are _still_ kissing.

                ‘Want us to order you boys a room?’ Says Cartwright loudly, and is met only by both of them giving him the finger in almost perfect synchronization. Doris is amazed that they’re aware enough of their surroundings to even notice. She wouldn’t be if she were snogging someone like that.

                Around them, the gawkers return to their drinks when they realize the whole thing isn’t really anything special or interesting. Doris decides they have the right idea, and downs her own, and skims the room to see if she can catch Carlton’s eye for another. Behind her, the two must have stopped kissing, because she can hear Angel say, ‘Not a bad way to start the year.’

                And, all things considered, he’s right.

* * *

 

_February_

It’s _bitterly_ cold. Not for the first time in her life, Doris is thankful she doesn’t have balls, or else they’d probably have turned to ice cubes by now. From the look on the Andies’ faces, she wouldn’t be surprised if that was their current problem, but she’ll be nice this time and not ask.

                The heater at the station is broken, and no-one is particularly happy about this. Walker is so annoyed he’s very nearly intelligible. Even the cheerier of the Turners has settled for making stupid amounts of hot tea and stuffing himself in as many sweaters from the lost and found as he can, not even reading, just focusing on staying warm. His brother is so grumpy, no-one’s been able to get a word out of him all day.

                And on top of that, it’s only half past one.

                The Chief had heroically withstood the chill for almost an hour after they got back from lunch (which was when they found the heater broke), then had buggered off to see if he could scrounge up a radiator somewhere. Angel may be a badass capable of shrugging off fractured ribs, a bullet graze, a punctured eardrum and numerous lacerations (his tally of injuries after they’d finally got him to let a doctor look at him after the station blew up and Danny had been wheeled away) but he was not particularly insulated. It was odd, really, but he was somehow so intimidating that you kind of forgot he was a rather short, skinny, angular bloke and not really physically imposing at all.

                ‘You better believe it,’ said Danny over a game of chess. ‘He hogs the blankets like nobody’s business.’

                ‘Oh, so our fearless leader isn’t a big cuddler?’ She moved her bishop within range of his knight. It was an unusually slow day, but then again who bothers to do crime when it’s windy, sleeting _and_ below freezing?

                ‘Nah, he is. He just somehow manages to do both at once.’ Danny’s brows furrowed, and then he moved his rook, leaving her king with nowhere to go. ‘Checkmate.’

                ‘You cheeky bastard! You always do this, why do I play with you?’

                ‘Because the Turners are absolute rubbish, Bob cheats compulsively and the Andies think the way to win is to turn on their own king and make their side into a democracy. And Tony’s off sick.’

                ‘Oh, right.’

                Just then, the Inspector stumbles through the door – and it _is_ a stumble, Doris realizes – with a radiator in his arms, which he deposits on the floor by Bob’s desk. He leans on the desk just a moment too long, then says, ‘This should do for now, but I put in an order for another one. We can’t have the boiler fixed until Wednesday,, because the plumber is on a vacation in Bali and won’t return until then.’ He sounds just fine, but his face looks kinda sweaty and his eyes are glassy, much like Tony had before he left with the flu yesterday.

                He’s about to turn around and go back to his paperwork when Danny scowls and leans back in his seat. ‘You silly bugger, you got yourself sick, didn’t you?’’

                ‘Did not.’ Says Angel, and that’s what clinches it for Doris, because if he wasn’t he would have raised a more stirring defence than that.

                ‘Come here,’ Danny order him, and Angel, amazingly, does as he’s told. The mysterious powers of one Sergeant Butterman. Danny reaches up and feels his forehead and scoffs. ‘You’ve got a fever like nobody’s business, you idiot. You’re going home.’

                ‘I can’t go home,’ Angel complains. ‘I haven’t taken a sick day since I joined the force!’

                Danny gives him such an uncharacteristically withering look that Angel shrinks for a moment. ‘You better start now. C’mon, I’ll drive you home. You can take care of everything for a bit, right Doris?’ He adds, already putting on his second jacket.

                ‘Of course,’ says Doris, although she’ll miss playing chess. ‘You just take your man home, Danny boy.’

                She hears them leave by degrees, because Angel keeps getting woozy and leaning on walls, desks and people. ‘I can drive by myself...’

                ‘No you can’t, you silly bastard, you’re going to drive right into the model village, and then you’ll feel _real_ stupid for not listening to me.’

                There was the sound of someone stumbling. ‘You may not be wrong.’

                ‘’Course I ain’t. Besides, somebody’s gotta take care of you.’ Behind them, the door closes.

                ‘Luv,’ remarks Walker, and Doris cannot help but agree.

* * *

 

_March_

When everyone sees the rings – plain, unadorned – it feels like such a natural conclusion that they almost don’t notice it. Or rather they do – police officers, like magpies, tend to easily spot shiny objects. But it had been a long time coming, and them _not_ getting engaged sooner rather than later felt like an impossibility altogether. So it kind of just, like so many other things, slips into the general background noise of “of course”.

                That is until Danny stands up from his desk just after tea break with his arms folded and says, ‘I can’t take it anymore! I’ve been wearing basically this tiny handcuff on my finger all day which isn’t at _all_ comfortable and if I don’t get some congratulations right now I’ll stage a strike!’

                The office briefly falls silent.

                ‘Didn’t you guys already get married in like, May?’ Quips Wainwright.

                ‘Nah, I’m pretty sure it was July,’ says Cartwright

                ‘Was it August?’ Says Tony.

                ‘June!’ Chimes Doris.

                ‘Oct’b’r,’ says Walker, with Saxon barking his agreement.

                Inspektor Angel says nothing, mug of tea half-way to his lips. Doris is pretty sure he’s hiding a grin.

                Danny groans, and throws his hands up. ‘You’re all a bunch of wankers! I don’t even know why I put up with you!’

                ‘Alright, settle down, Princess,’ scoffs Cartwright. ‘Congratulations, or whatever.’

                And then the whole office is filled with such sentiments, and accompanying back-slapping and so on. Doris gets in one good hug with Danny, and then surprises Angel – Nicholas, with another. Amazingly, he looks happy about it. ‘I demand to be best man,’ she says. ‘Either one of you, doesn’t matter.’

                ‘Not bridesmaid?’ Asks Fisher.

                She scoffs. ‘Bridesmaids just get to walk on a long carpet. Best man gets to get drunk and do an embarrassing speech, preferably at the same time.’

                ‘Bridesmaid gets to hook up with the best man, though,’ says Wainwright.

                ‘Bold of you to assume I can’t do both!’

                And as they all laugh, Doris thinks that as foregone conclusions go, this one is pretty great.


End file.
